


against all odds

by seb



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Almost smut, Fluff, M/M, Single Dad AU, Tags May Change, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-01-05 21:34:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18374507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seb/pseuds/seb
Summary: A family can be two single dads and their respective chaotic children.Or: Dave and Jade are a handful. Parenthood is an easier load to bear when you've got another pair of hands to hold yours.Or: Dirk babysits Jade and, in turn, her father.





	1. into view

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PeachBriseadh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachBriseadh/gifts).



> Surprise! I'm doing Camp NaNo! This is unedited, unreviewed, and probably not the best, but. It exists now.
> 
> Inspired by Paya's stress relief drawings of single dads Dirk & Jake and their kids, Dave & Jade, being the best troublemaking friends. 
> 
> Featuring: dogs, cats, sad backstory, crowtection, and copious amounts of fluff.

Ms. Maryam looks on sympathetically as you fidget in your tiny plastic seat. You wonder about the probability of elementary school teachers getting a raise and a proper office is. They deserve it, given the exhaustion evident on the poor teacher’s face.

You got a call halfway through the day, asking if you could come in for a double parent-teacher conference due to your student’s behavior. You sighed, asked what time, and tried not to break the fragile computer parts you were repairing for a friend in the meantime.

You puff out a breath of air, tapping your fingers on your knees rhythmically. Ms. Maryam hasn’t said a word to you since you stepped into the classroom, just gestured towards two of the small chairs in front of her desk and smiled, tight-lipped. You don’t dare break the silence with small talk or ask questions about what in the hell Dave did this time. You sit and you wait, like the grown, adult man you are, in your chair meant for 5 year olds.

The door bursts open comically, a dishevelled jumble of limbs and hair stumbling through and promptly tripping over the rug. Ms. Maryam gasps, hand flying to cover her mouth, and makes to get up when the man catches himself on one of the tables, effectively crushing a decorated name tag under his palm and knocking over a bucket of writing utensils. You hide your growing smile in your arm by pretending to cough.

The man looks up sheepishly and you nigh immediately start choking on air, digging your chin into your shoulder as your body is wracked with the force of your failing lungs. He’s gorgeous. His dark hair is mussed from the wind, dark skin bright with embarrassment, glasses askew, green eyes shining; and you suddenly wonder how his kid and Dave corroborated to bring on this chance first meeting.

“Sorry about my tardiness!” the man says, gathering the markers and crayons off the desk and floor and putting them neatly back in the bucket. “And the clumsiness,” he laughs before grimacing at the crushed name tag. “And the mess.”

Ms. Maryam clears her throat and point the man to the seat next to you. You wonder how he’s going to fit his large body in that chair when your beanpole ass can barely make do. All of you seem to realize this at the same time when he does attempt to sit down and uncomfortably crosses his arm in his lap, leaning forward to avoid falling over completely.

“Mr. Strider,” Ms. Maryam gestures at you, voice light and airy and not at all what you were expecting. “Mr. English,” she greets the man sitting next to you, who smiles apologetically. “Thank you for meeting with me today. I wish it could have been under different circumstances.”

She shuffles some papers around on her desk before bringing two slim notes out in front of her. “Mr. English—”

“Jake!” he says enthusiastically, putting his hand out to shake. “You can call me Jake.”

Ms. Maryam looks at his hand, then back up to his face, then back down at his hand, daintily placing her hand in his and shaking once before dropping it. “Yes,” she says, clearing her throat. “Jake English; your daughter, Jade, has… gotten in a bit of trouble today, I’m afraid.” Before Jake can make a sound— and he tries— Ms. Maryam continues. “She is a wonderful child, don’t get me wrong. Smart, charismatic, very active in the classroom. But today, unlike her usual business at recess, she decided to use her renowned mud pies for… a harmful purpose.”

Jake blinks, confused. “A harmful purpose?”

“She slammed poor Karkat Vantas’ face into a mud pie, shouting, ‘Take that, nubs!’”

“Oh.”

“Can I ask what my kid has to do with this?” you speak up, unsure where you fit into this conference.

“Dave was eating Skittles and cheering Jade on,” Ms. Maryam supplies helpfully.

“Skittles?” you question, brow furrowed. “I don’t give him Skittles.”

Both Jake and Ms. Maryam look at you this time. “I think you’re missing the point,” Ms. Maryam says calmly.

“Right,” you respond, shaking your head. “The cheering it on thing. Look, I’ve always told him to stand up to wrongdoing, I’m sure he wouldn’t have been encouraging it if the kid didn’t have it coming to him.”

Jake raises a brow and nods along. You don’t know if he’s actually appreciating your defense of his daughter or just pretending.

“Mr. Strider,” Ms. Maryam begins.

“Dirk,” you say, flexing your fingers in a small wave. You see Jake grin in the corner of your eye.

“Dirk Strider,” she starts again, sighing. “Dave was the one who asked Jade to do it.”

“And?” you ask. You made your point. The kid probably had it coming.

Ms. Maryam takes a deep breath. “Okay,” she says, sliding the two slips across the table to you and Jake. “I understand that you both think very highly of your children. I do as well; they are wonderful kids and I am grateful to be the one to teach them. However, I do believe you should speak to your students about this incident. If they offer an apology by the end of the week, I will let them go without a detention.”

You nod, knowing fully well that she doesn’t want to deal with this apparently dynamic duo in the same room for detention, and take the slip. She rubs her eyes and turns in her chair, opening a drawer and taking out a new name tag. You assume this is the end of the conference and stand, knees cracking as you do from being in such a cramped position for so long. Jake follows after, stepping carefully over the chairs so as to not cause any more of a headache.

You open and hold the door for him, fully intending to just go pick up your kid, when Jake sidles up next to you, nudging your shoulder with his. “Pretty good job we did back there,” he says, grinning. You shrug.

“Not the first time Dave has gotten into shit,” you respond easily, voice low so no children overhear. “One of the very few times he’s been caught, though.”

“Jadey’s a good kid,” Jake says fondly, taking his coat off and swinging it over his shoulder. “I didn’t think she could ever get up to much trouble. Your little guy must be very convincing.”

You two happen upon the pick-up room, where you spot Dave folding colorful printer paper into very intricate paper planes, which a very wavy-haired, enthusiastic little girl is launching into the air at other kids. The teacher in charge looks way past caring, scrolling through her phone as some kid boredly throws crumpled up planes at her. You open the door and she fails to even put on a smile or pretend she isn’t ignoring these kids wholesale, barely glancing up at you before nodding and going back to her phone.

Dave spots you, promptly putting his half-finished paper plane down and patting the girl’s shoulder to go grab his stuff and meet you by the door. Jake, on the other hand, has to call Jade’s name and… the girl who was throwing the planes looks up, blinking innocently. Cute kid. You see how Jake could think she’d do no wrong.

You fistbump Dave and take his backpack, throwing it over your shoulder and taking his hand to walk him out into the parking lot. Jake goes zooming past you with Jade on his shoulders and pulling his hair, and your heart sinks a little. He’s too fucking handsome to be cute with his kid. You’re only allowed one.

Dave insists on opening the door by himself, climbing up into his seat and putting his hands out so you can buckle him in, though you know he’s capable of doing it himself. “Brat,” you comment, and he grins. You kiss his head before closing the door and getting into the car yourself. Fixing the mirror, you see him lean his chin on his hand as he gazes out the window. He never gets bored of the same view.

“So,” you start, and he peeks at you from the corner of his eye. You set your sights on the road around you and talk casually, hoping he’ll actually respond verbally. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” he says into his palm. “Got in trouble.”

“Did you?” you respond, faux shocked.

“I saw you walk by before you picked me up,” he says. You knew he was too smart for that to work.

“Did the kid deserve it?”

“What?” he asks.

“The kid who got pie’d,” you clarify, glancing up at the mirror. He’s lifted his shades to look at you in confusion, blinking before dropping them back on his nose.

“He broke my crayon when I tried to draw with him,” Dave says, shrugging.

You sigh, drumming your fingers on the steering wheel. “So yes?”

Dave smiles.

“And… ‘Nubs?’”

“He’s very angry,” Dave says. “When he draws, his crayons get worn down into little nubs.”

Makes sense. You nod and let him doze.

The rest of the ride home is silent save for the occasional bump of Dave’s head against the window as he drifts off. After that sufficient talk, you think the only appropriate action to follow up with is a nice chocolate pie. Maybe a slice for Jade, too. And her dad.


	2. of heart and mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is ROUGH. I kept zoning out while I was typing it. It's not fluid at all and honestly very boring, imo, even if it is cute.   
> BUT. It's Camp NaNo, and I don't have the energy or time to revise now; I'll do so at a later point in time.   
> Thanks for bearing with me anyway. ♥

A few weeks pass without incident. Dave ended up making an apology card for Karkat, stuffed in an envelope with enough glitter to clog an artery. Since, he’s been talking a lot about his new friend. 

“Dad?” he questions as you help him pull on his t-shirt. You hum, brushing his hair to the side with your fingers. “Can Jade come over after school?”

Shit, well, you’ll have to clean the living room from game night, but. “Why not?”

He cheers and pumps his fists up and down then throws his arms around your neck in a crushing hug. You rub his back before lifting him up off the ground and making your way to the kitchen to get his lunch ready. Sitting him on the counter, you root through the fridge while he opens his lunchbox and prepares to put everything in it, tossing care to the wind regarding smushing bread or keeping things cold. It makes your bones ache a little, but you manage.

“What does Jade like to eat, anyway?” you ask, already preparing a checklist for snacks in your head. Fruit, probably. Maybe some graham crackers. A tray of assorted nuts.

“Slim jims,” Dave says. You almost actually gasp in shock. “And my oranges. I haven’t eaten them in weeks.”

Okay, that one did hurt a little bit. “What does she normally have for lunch?” you ask, fearing the answer.

“Uh,” Dave starts, pausing to think. “Meat. A lot of chicken, a lot of B-B-Q—” he never has been able to say barbeque, but he uses that shortcut when he could be trying with you— “and rice.”

You stare dumbly at him and close the fridge. “Vegetables?” you ask, almost desperately. “Not even a fruit cup?”

“Veggies,” Dave says, and makes grabby hands for the fridge. “Come on, we don’t have the day.”

“Okay,” you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut and taking a deep breath. “Okay. I’m going to cook this kid the feast of the century and have a stern talking to with her dad. Tell her she’s getting a lot more than slim jims.” 

Dave shrugs, nodding only when you look at him with the most pleading, puppy-dog eyes you can manage, and you get back to putting his lunch together. You are extremely careful to include at least one thing from every food group in his lunchbox, though you are the only person who will notice. Maybe Jade will get jealous. Maybe she’ll tell her dad. Only time will tell.

With a zip of his backpack, the ceremonial placement of his shades, and a goodbye pat to Mutie, the two of you are out the door and on your way to his school in a matter of minutes. You wave Dave goodbye as you drop him off at the front and absolutely do not stay longer than you need to in search of either tall, tan, and handsome, or tiny lightning bolt. You are honked at by another parent before you pull away from the curb, disappointed in your not-search, and head back to the house to get shit done.

The first thing you do is look through the fridge. The kid likes slim jims? You’ll give her the real stuff. Smoked sausage with a kick. Cheddar cheese. Broccoli, potatoes, fresh green beans, peppers. Dessert? Fruit tart. Fresh fruit, homemade pastry cream. Give her something to write home about. You’ve got most of the ingredients, but you make a list of fresh fruit, heavy cream, and some other shit you need to make this meal the best it can be.

The next few hours are, in short, agonizing. Your list and extravagant goal are pinned at the front of your mind, but you can’t rush through your work. It’s tedious, working with feedback from customers and data from factory tests to improve the output of your product. Your breadboard is long worn, but gets the job done: you end up with a cleaner, more efficient circuit to print and send into testing. Thank fuck. You’ve got important things to do.

You carefully stash your breadboard in your bag and head out to the office. The same asshole in the ‘66 Mustang that can’t park is in the best spot again, and you curse him out loud in your car as you park farther down than you’d like. You find Horrus in his workshop and smack the breadboard down on his desk before making your way back out. That dog that roams the office sits politely by the door, staring at you even as you make your way to your car. You’ve never caught its full name, and its green, bone-shaped name tag doesn’t have shit on it aside from the CEO’s business number and the address of the office. You try not to let its stare linger on the back of your neck as you make your way out of the parking lot.

Your trip to the store is short. You don’t have much time to dawdle, so you grab what you need and go. Lining your arms with grocery bags when you reach home, you restrain from running up the driveway and kicking the door in. Mutie greets you in the kitchen, curiously sniffing at the bags as you place them on the counter and get cooking. Pan heated, sausage sliced, and vegetables washed, you throw everything together and get rice cooking on the next burner. You dive into the tart crust, then take the sausage and veggies off the burner and start on the pastry cream to get that in the fridge as soon as possible. It’s busy, messy work; Mutie licks up stray cream off the counter no matter how much you shoo her away, and before you know it, it’s time to pick Dave up. 

Well, shit. You’ll have to ask him for help cleaning up the living room. You make sure the stove is off and do a quick wipe of the counter, throwing dishes in the sink for later, and make your way out to your car. Jade is still there when you pick Dave up with no Jake to be found, and you count your blessings. Saved from flushed-face embarrassment, given extra time to get the fucking house in order before the kid comes over. Dave babbles excitedly about Jade coming over and the things he did today and surprisingly agrees to help with clean-up. You think he just wants to lick the spoon from the pastry cream.

The two of you make quick work of cleaning the house. Dave has always been good about clean-up, and it seems he wants to impress Jade, too. You set the stove to low to warm up the food, then work on dishes. Dave helps you wash dishes  _ while  _ licking the spoon from the pastry cream, which you have to admit is pretty impressive. You’re even left with enough time to shape the tart shell and stick it in the freezer before the doorbell rings.

Dave almost falls off the counter in excitement. You help him off the counter and walk to the door with him, letting him open it after pulling out the deadbolt. Jade comes rushing through the threshold, barreling into Dave with a hug, as if they hadn’t been playing just an hour ago. Jake smiles sheepishly from the welcome mat, in the same office get-up from the meeting you two had with Ms. Maryam. “Hello, Dirk,” he says, raising a hand and wiggling his fingers. 

“Hi, Jake,” you say, evening the playing field in the name-remembering competition. His resulting grin is blinding. “You can come in if you’d like,” you suggest, opening the door wider for him. 

“Afraid I can’t,” he replies, wringing his hands together. “Had to take my lunch early to get her and I’m going right back in.” Ouch. Long hours, huh? He hands you a slip of paper with a phone number on it. “This is my number— if you could send me pictures of her throughout the day, I’d greatly appreciate it. I worry about how she’s doing when she’s not with me. I’ll try to get another break in to pick her up around seven.”

When she’s not with him? Is he in the same boat as you? Well, probably not exactly, but. “You got it, get ready for playdate pics galore.” He breathes out a huge sigh of relief and you can’t help but smile empathetically. “Don’t worry about picking her up early. Take as long as you need. Nobody in the house to bother but me, and I’m done for the day.”

“Yeah,” Dave yells from somewhere behind you. You turn to find him waving at Jake before pointing at you. “Dad doesn’t have a real job, so Jade can stay as long as she wants.”

Jake snorts, covering his face immediately when you look back at him. You sigh and rub your temple. “I do, for the record,” you say, before clarifying. “Have a real job. I just work from home most of the time.”

“I believe you,” he says. Yet another blessing. “And thank you, Dirk.” He extends a hand to shake yours with. You get a good grip on his hand and can’t help but notice how firmly he holds yours. He means business.

He takes off before you can say anything back. You hope he doesn’t get in trouble for being late. Jade runs up beside you and waves goodbye as Jake pulls out of the driveway, and he, in turn, blows kisses through the window until he’s out of sight. She then promptly grabs your hand and tries to tug you into the house before you’ve even closed the door.

“Dave said you made pie,” she says excitedly, and you laugh as you follow her to the kitchen. She’s been here for all of 5 minutes and has already claimed the area.

“Fruit tart,” you correct. “For dessert.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, and you blink, brow furrowing. A lightning bolt with some attitude. “What do I have to eat to get the pie?”

“I made smoked sausage and vegetables,” you proudly tell her. She looks at you quizzically, so you decide to show rather than tell. You pull her into the kitchen, then take the pan off the stove and wiggle it under her nose. 

Her little brows furrow as he glasses fog up, and she takes them off to look at you. “Where’d you get this?”

“I made it,” you tell her. She’s speechless. Except…

“Do you have cheese?”

You almost smack your forehead at the oversight. You put the pan back on the burner, then open the fridge and bring out a block of cheddar cheese. Jade grimaces. “You don’t have Kraft?”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

“No,” you say sternly. “I don’t have Kraft. I have real cheese, and I’m going to grate it for you, and you’re not getting any of that fruit tart unless you eat your food.”

“You’re mean,” Jade says, crossing her arms angrily.

You shrug. “I have real food and you’re going to eat it. Then I’m going to talk to your dad about his cooking.”

“Baba doesn’t cook,” Jade says, obviously frustrated. “He works too much.”

Oh. Shit, now you feel bad. You pull the tart crust out of the fridge and hold it in front of her. “I’ll talk to him about bringing that fruit tart home with you, then, how about that?”

Jade breaks out into a smile as bright as her father’s and hugs your leg. Hopefully that makes you nice again. You stick the crust in the oven, then grab a bowl and grate the cheese once she scampers off to join Dave, presumably at the dining table. You get plates and try your best to make the food look nice. You sprinkle Jade’s plate with cheese and stick a fork in all 3 plates before balancing them in your hands.

Dave and Jade are whispering about something next to each other when you walk in and quickly stop at the sight of food. You put their plates in front of them and sit in your usual chair— the one with the back support, because holy fuck do you need it— then fish out your phone. Snapping a picture of Jade digging into her plate, you send it off to Jake.

_ It’s Dirk Strider. She’s enjoying it, despite her complaints about my choice of cheese. Homework next. _

You get a text back not even a minute later.

_ Looks great! Whered you get it? _

_ My fridge. _

He sends back a string of shocked and heart emojis, and you smile as you tuck your phone into your pocket. Jade is watching you as she chews, smiling when you raise your eyebrow. “The meat tastes like slim jims,” she says, and you close your eyes. Contain yourself, Dirk. She’s young. She doesn’t know. “But better!” she tacks on, and you blink your eyes back open to find her grinning at you. You smile back and she resumes absolutely chowing down. 

After your meal, you set the kids up to do their homework: multiplication pages and letter practice, the good old days. You sneak into the kitchen and stick the tart crust in the freezer so it cools faster, then work on cutting up the fruit toppings. You get the fruit in bowls, wash everything up, wipe down the counter, and get the crust and cream out by the time the kids finish their homework. You check it over it for them, helping them correct a few questions, then pack up their stuff as they race to the kitchen. 

“I want to lick the spoon,” Dave says as soon as you cross the threshold. Jade pouts.

“I want to lick the spoon too!” Jade whines.

“I lick the spoon,” you say matter-of-factly. Both of them drop their jaws and stare at you. “You two get the bowl.”

They seem happy about this, cheering and high-fiving. You lift Dave up onto the counter then ask Jade if she’d like to join in on the fun. She enthusiastically nods her head and lifts her arms up to make grabby hands at you. After lifting her up onto the counter, you grab a spatula and start pouring the cream into the crust. The kids watch you, awaiting their treat once you’re done, and you’re sure not to scoop all of it out, because you’re not mean.

You let the kids decorate with the fruit and lick the bowl (and spoon) while you wash up the dishes from dinner and put aside a container for Jake to eat when he gets home. You tap your fingers on the counter, thinking of ways to entertain children on a playdate, before Dave’s laughter distracts you.

It’s such a rare sound. He’s so quiet and so distant and you’re lucky to get him to talk to you on bad days. His teachers sometimes suggest testing, but you think it’s because he remembers her. 

He grins at you and your heart melts. You really love your little dude. You walk over to see that they’ve tried to recreate each other’s likeness through fruit. Jade has two kiwi slices for eyes, blackberries picked apart to make her glasses, and a big, orange smile. Dave has blueberries bunched together to make his shades and a strawberry… beak? It’s fitting. They’re having fun. Next, Dave tries to make you, and Jade catches on, trying to make Jake right below. You start filling in the negative space with colors that don’t detract from the masterpieces as they finish up. 

The result is better than a boring, traditional fruit tart. You take a picture with the kids posing next to it, hands and face covered in cream and fruit, to send to Jake.

_ I think they have a future in art. Jade is a little more abstract but I’m sure it’ll sell. _

Jake sends a collage of Jade’s interpretation of him next to a selfie, presumably at his office. There’s a watermark in the corner and an ungodly pattern to the borders. You show the picture to Jade who cheers and blows a kiss to the phone. You get her to do it again, taking a picture this time, and send it off. He responds with more heart emojis. He’s either lazy, busy, or he has reached middle-aged soccer mom status and this is just normal for him.

You regretfully have to cut into the fruit tart to eat it. The kids do not find this all that bad; in fact, they encourage you to give them slices of their faces. You do, sending them to the dining table with plates as you try to find a cover for the tart so you can send that home with Jade, too. You pack up the rest of the leftovers and throw the pans in the sink for later. Jade and Dave bring you their plates once they’re done, and Jade even offers to help wash dishes. You tell her to go have fun, it’s a playdate afterall. She gives your hand a squeeze before running out into the living room.

You take a second to breathe. You’ve been bustling around all day without any stops and you are beyond worn out. You pull out your French press and make yourself a cup of coffee, vanilla syrup drizzled over the grounds and with enough sugar to avoid leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. You had enough of that shit when you were younger. You peek out of the kitchen to see Jade and Dave playing with Dave’s train set in the living room while the coffee brews. Jade is tripping over her own assortment of cars in between the tracks, laughing all the way. Dave is making chugging noises and stopping at every railway crossing, which is a little backwards, but you appreciate his heeding of traffic laws.

You press down the plunger and pour the coffee into your cup, stirring thoroughly. You pull out your phone and sneak a picture of the kids playing to send to Jake. He responds quickly with a picture of stacks of paperwork on a desk.

_ Wish i was there. Looks like theyre having fun! _

Poor guy. You wish he was able to get away from his workload and play around a little. You get the feeling this is normal for both Jake and Jade.

Careful not to disturb the lively city on the floor of the living room, you make your way to the couch and pull over your laptop from the side table. Setting your coffee down on a coaster, you start flipping through some stats from work and check if there’s any update from Horrus. Nothing yet. Instead of worrying, you put on some music— Dave’s favorite playlist, to be exact; alt-J, Arctic Monkeys, a little Lorde here and there. Jade tilts her head and looks up at you.

“What’s up?” you ask, tapping your fingers on your knee as you take a sip of coffee.

“You listen to weird music,” she says, shrugging. You almost spit out your drink. 

“What does your dad listen to?”

“Other stuff,” Jade informs you. Very helpful. She goes back to playing, undisturbed, and you assume she’s okay with listening to this music, even though it’s “ _ weird _ .” One song comes on that she seems to actually like, because she stands up and starts dancing; elegant, fluid hand movements and twisting up on her toes to spin around, hair splaying around her.

“Do you take dance classes?” you question, even though you can’t tell exactly what kind of dance it is that she’s doing, let alone what class she’d take to learn it in.

“Nope!” she says cheerfully, stumbling to a stop and wiggling around, stilling only enough to look at you as she speaks. “I learned from Baba. We dance a lot!”

That’s… adorable. “You’re very good at it,” you say, and she beams before continuing her little dance routine. You finish up your coffee and let one playlist bleed into another. Dave starts packing up his toys while Jade keeps dancing, eventually pulling him into dancing with her. He’s never been a dancer, but he stumbles around trying to keep up with her anyway. You start pausing the music sporadically, looking at them expectantly, and they freeze. You start the music back up, and they slowly catch on, freezing as soon as you pause the music and giggling.

They’re at it for a while. You get them some water halfway through that you have to remind them to sip on while they party. Jade leans against your leg while she drinks, setting it down to yawn big and long. You take her cup from her and she takes her glasses off to rub her eyes.

“Sleepy?”

“A little,” she says, clearly more than a little sleepy. She squints as she looks around your living room. “When is Baba coming to pick me up?”

You whip out your phone and see that it’s nearing nine. She tuckers out early. “Dunno,” you reply, setting your phone back down. You turn down your music and get up to grab a pillow and blanket, placing them on the couch carefully. You turn around but Jade beats you to climbing up onto the couch and flopping down on the pillow, pulling the blanket over herself. 

“I’m not going to sleep,” she tells you, firm. It’s followed by another yawn. Dave tilts his head down and gives you a look over his shades. You nod.

“I know,” you reply, and turn your music off, stowing your laptop away in the side table drawer. You turn the lamp on, low, and get up slowly as to not disturb her. Dave grabs his water cup and you grab Jade’s and your mug. He follows you into the kitchen and drags his stool over so he can help you finish up dishes. 

“You feel like going to bed?” you ask Dave. He nods quickly.

“She dances a lot,” he says, placing a cup in the drying rack. “I’m tired out.”

You nod like you understand dancing until you’re ready to pass out. You decide to finish up after getting Dave in bed, picking him up right off the stool and stepping carefully through the living room, where Jade is fast asleep, down the hall to Dave’s room. You help him get changed and tuck him into bed, kissing his head and brushing his hair back until he’s fallen asleep. He hates going to sleep alone, is barely used to sleeping in his own bed. You turn his light off and his nightlight on, then close his door.

Mutie is cuddled up next to Jade when you go back out to the living room. You only get a second to smile at the scene before there’s a knock on the front door. You tiptoe over and look through the peephole at an exhausted-looking Jake. When you unlock the door, he straightens up and pastes a smile on his face before you open it. 

“Heya Dirk!” he starts, holding his hands up before you can reply. “I’m so sorry for being this late, I had a conference call and a report to finish that I  _ totally _ forgot about. It’s on me. I’m more than happy to pay you for your time—”

“None of that,” you say, waving your hand at him. You open the door and wave him in and this time, he sheepishly steps inside. “Jade is a delight. She got her homework done then had us dance for an hour or two.”

You lead him to the living room and gesture at her sleeping form on the couch, Mutie now stretched lazily over her. Jake’s face melts into a genuine smile, something small and ever-loving as he relaxes the rest of his face. Not wanting to disturb him, you go into the kitchen to grab his container of food and the fruit tart, placing them in a big paper bag and cursing how noisy it is. You go around to grab her backpack from the dining room and come back into the living room to find him in front of the couch, taking a picture of Jade. He looks up at you and smiles, placing his hand over his heart.

He says something you don’t quite catch, then chuckles to himself. “Thank you, I mean,” he says a little louder. You shake your head and hold out the bags. 

“Anytime,” you say, then open the paper bag when he doesn’t take it right away. “Saved you some of the smoked sausage and veggies so you don’t have to cook when you get home. The fruit tart’s in there, too.”

His face drops into shock and he blinks rapidly, shaking his head. “No,” you say, interrupting him before he can even speak. “I don’t want to hear it. This is yours. All I want back are the containers.”

Jake takes the bags just to place them on the ground, and goes in for a hug. You’re startled and swept into his arms, enveloped in warmth and some kind of musky cologne. Just as fast as he leaned in, he pulls away, and all you can do is laugh, startled and sheepish. 

“Thank you so much,” he says, and looks back at Jade. He slips the bags on his arms, then maneuvers until he can slide his arms underneath Jade and hold her close to his chest. You tuck the blanket in around her instead of pulling it away, and he smiles warmly. You can tell he won’t let you get away with this sort of kindness, but you look forward to whatever he has in store for payback.

You follow him to the door, something biting at the back of your mind. Before he can even pass the threshold, you lay your hand on his shoulder and clear your throat. He turns around inquisitively. “If you ever need someone to watch her,” you say, trailing off into silence. He looks so grateful but so hesitant, and you wish you could grab him by the shoulders and shake him, as if it’d make him let you help.

“Goodnight, Dirk,” he says, and pulls Jade tighter to him before walking away, down your driveway and off to his car.

“Goodnight,” you say, whisper-quiet, and close out the moonlight from the mat by your front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is very appreciated, as this is just something I'm pumping out and will come back to clean up later when I have the inspiration.  
> Chapter Count: 4410  
> Fic Count: 5991  
> Catch me on Twitter @asmrst!


	3. new truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got so bored writing this chapter but I desperately hope it's not as boring to read. I offer you some spare vague backstory and more domestic cooking and home life.   
> Also surprise! Jake is Palestinian, like me! I realized I could do Whatever I Wanted because this is my fic and I've been SUPER excited to share this hc with y'all as it's one very close to my heart. There is more to be revealed and not all of it is nice so bathe in the fluff while you have it. ;3c
> 
> Translations:  
> "Jadwah" = Jade's full name  
> "Habibti" = my darling (feminine)  
> "Khalas" = done/enough  
> "Waraq Einab" = grape leaves, an Arab dish  
> Tzatziki, zaatar bread, and tabouleh are more dishes!  
> "Yaqoub" = Jake's full name  
> "Keffiyeh" = a type of checkered scarf  
> "Kifl Hares" = a Palestinian village

Getting the day off for career day is a hassle and a half. Maybe even two hassles! Turns out companies do actually need their CEOs to be present for ungodly hours every day, who knew.

It feels weird to dress for the job even though you’re not going in for the day. It feels weird to not go in for the day at all. You don’t even want to think about the amount of meetings you’ll have tomorrow to make up for it. You get your finger caught in your tie and tug it back out before taking the whole thing apart, frustrated. Gran did your tie for the interview that got you the job, and Nadia did it every day before then. It’s been years and you’re still trying to learn how to make it look clean and professional. 

“Jadwah, habibti,” you call, and hear the thumping of your daughter running down the hall, even though you’ve told her not to; it’s dangerous. She’s fallen so many times and has yet to learn. Jade peeks her head around the doorframe, hair a wavy mess and void of glasses. You wave her over and she is very careful not to run toward you, walking in with her hands swinging behind her back.

“Do you need help, Baba?” she asks, blinking up at you. You sigh, nodding, before squatting down to her level. She takes your tie in hand, smoothing it out before crossing the ends, very slowly and carefully tying it from memory. Her tongue sticks out as she does, and you’re too busy welling up with pride and love to pay attention to how she ties it so you can do it on your own. 

She flicks the end out to hit your chin and you startle, making her laugh. She lets the tie hang loose so you can tighten it without choking yourself, then tucks the back of it into the little… tie holder thing. You don’t know what it’s called or how it works; you can’t even tie your own tie. You don’t even know how Jade learned it.

“Where’d you learn how to do that, anyway?” you decide to ask her.

“Dave taught me!” she says proudly, placing her hands on her hips. “We played house once and he tied a ribbon around his neck like a tie, then did one for me. I was so excited we stopped playing so he could teach me.”

That sounds like your Jade. You kiss her forehead before standing and wiggling your fingers for her hand. She grabs it, quickly regretting doing so as you drag her to the bathroom so you can brush her hair. She digs her heels into the rug, pulling at your fingers in a desperate attempt to escape. You use your other arm to pick her up and swing her onto your hip and she whines, pounding on your shoulder with her fists.

“No, Baba, please,” she pleads as you place her on the counter. “My hair looks fine, I like it this way—”

“Khalas,” you say, and she quiets, crossing her arms and pouting. You sigh. “I’ll put the spray in so it doesn’t get caught,” you bargain, and she sighs as well, ducking her head. You grab the no-tangle spray because heaven knows she needs it, and spritz it over her hair, running your hand gently through it to make sure to get all of it. You grab her comb next and start at the bottom, holding her hair near the top so it doesn’t tug at her scalp.

You don’t know why she protests so much. She almost falls asleep against your chest as you comb through her hair, spritzing at the underside every so often to make sure it goes smoothly. You’re so glad you found this spray; she used to cry when you brushed her hair, before you knew how to do it properly. It goes so easily now, even though it takes forever. 

By the time you’re done, you think she actually is asleep. You jostle your shoulder and she hums, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. You lift her up and turn her around so she can see herself, and her smile lights up the room. She wiggles until you let her stand on her own, and she proceeds to run out of the room. You call after her and hear her stumble to a stop before continuing at a more leisurely pace with an audible huff. 

You comb your own hair up and out and clean your glasses before waggling a pair of finger guns at yourself in the mirror. You look good. You look like the CEO of SkaiaNet Systems, which you worked your ass off to become. You’re proud of yourself.

“Baba, we’re going to be late!” Jade calls from down the hall. You check your watch. Shit. Being CEO has done nothing to improve your tendency to be late to everything. You walk briskly out to the hall, where Jade is waiting for you with her backpack perched on her shoulders, and check your pockets to make sure you have your keys, phone, and grocery list. You have a surprise for Jade after school that you will not— cannot— forget.

She grabs your hand and quickly guides you to the garage, hopping up on her toes as she waits for you to open it and unlock the car so she can run to her side. You follow after, but she’s already opened the door and climbed into her seat, waiting for you to buckle her in as if she can’t do it herself. You do so anyway and hop into the driver’s seat once she’s situated, pulling out and heading to the school. 

The building comes into view, and you watch Jade wiggle around excitedly. You wonder just what could be so exciting about today; maybe Jade’s interested in learning about other professions? Maybe she’s excited to meet the parents of her classmates!

Or maybe she’s just excited to see Dirk again. You know you are. She would not stop talking about him after the playdate, about how he was a bit mean at first but let her eat lots of fruit and played games with them. He sent you pictures of every activity, clear as day, frequently enough to keep you from worrying as you painstakingly worked your way through piles of paperwork. He even gave you a break from greasy fast food with a home-cooked meal and a treat for later. 

You are ever grateful and a little embarrassed. Part of you can’t wait to thank him and see his face in the morning light; another part of you never wants to see him smile again, lest you melt right into the ground. You find a spot in the parking lot and breathe, adjusting your tie. Even without work, you are anxious and busy. How do you always do this to yourself?

Jade unbuckles her seatbelt and stretches her arm out to touch your shoulder. You pat her hand and turn to smile at her, soothing over the worried look on her face. You kiss her hand before unbuckling and opening the door, jogging around to open the door for her and bow. She curtsies— well, more like she bends her knees and bows her head while grabbing the hem of her skirt, but it works— and you take her backpack in one hand and her hand in the other and follow as she skips to her class.

The room is brimming with parents and students alike, yet it’s not crowded. This calms your nerves a bit, as nervous as you can be talking about your job to a bunch of six year olds. Jade squeezes your hand and points you to her cubby, covered in frog and star stickers. You hang her backpack up in it, then she leads you to her seat, which has a bigger seat right behind it. Where was that during your parent-teacher conference?

You plop down in your seat and Jade smacks your hands when you start picking anxiously at your nails. You huff, nudging her shoulder, and she sticks her tongue out at you. You look around, stomach dropping once you see Dave’s name tag right next to Jade. Oh gosh. Okay. You look at the seat behind his… and move it a little closer. 

Just in time, too, because soon after, Jade is gasping and waving as Dave walks through the door. Trailing behind is Dirk in a lovely suit similar to yours, minus the coat, and you sit up a little straighter and clear your throat. He looks handsome and equally as anxious as you are. Dave begins waving back at Jade, causing Dirk to look over and see you, lifting his hand in a wave. You smile and wave back as calmly as you can manage. Though you barely know him, you trust him. Your anchor in a storm, you tap your feet excitedly as he makes his way over and sits down beside you without moving the chair an inch. 

“Hey,” he says, quiet. You sway into his space, raising your eyebrows.

“Excited?” you ask, wiggling in your seat.

Dirk snorts. “Excited to get a bunch of blank stares from kids, parents, and the teacher?”

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad!”

Ms. Maryam quiets you all, introduces herself, and starts the presentations, picking kids’ names randomly.

It’s that bad.

“You know, computers?” Dirk tries, face twisted in pain.

The entirety of the room stares blankly up at him.

“It’s not a real job,” Dave says, shrugging. “He doesn’t even leave the house.”

Dirk sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “It is a real job,” he almost pleads, and your heart aches a little for him. “I’m the lead electrical engineer at SkaiaNet Systems. I design, develop, and maintain some of the world’s biggest and most complex electrical control systems and equipment. Technology would not be the same without my contributions to the field.”

The class sits in silence. Even you’re a little shocked to hear him speak so professionally about what he does. And at your company, no less! You had no idea someone so skilled and passionate did so much heavy lifting for SkaiaNet.

“He’s in Geek Squad,” Dave says, and all the kids in the class gasp in unison, a “Woah!” and “Cool!” here and there. You think you can feel Dirk’s soul slip right between his lips in a sigh. Ms. Maryam takes pity on him and gestures for them to sit down.

“I think you do great work,” you say as soon as Dirk settles in beside you. He shrugs and rolls his eyes. 

“If only anyone knew what it was,” he replies. You reach over and give his knee a squeeze, then politely place your clasped hands in your lap as the next student-parent pair stands up.

Jade can hardly contain her excitement when her name is called. She pulls you up the front, raising her arms like sunbeams, catching the attention of the entire class. “My Baba is a C-E-O,” she says, enunciating each letter. “I don’t know what it means, but he does important things!”

Some of the kids laugh; some of the parents, too. “I don’t know what it means either,” you joke. “What I do know is that I plan the business activities of a pretty big company that the lovely workers below me carry out very well. It’s a lot of work, but the view is worth it.”

You gaze down at Jade, who jumps into talking about the way the sunset looks from your office and the park next door. Her hair bounces and flicks this way and that with the extravagant hand movements she makes while speaking, her voice loud and captivating. You glance up to see every person in the room entranced by her stories, save for one.

Dirk is looking at you, chin resting on his hands. He smiles when he catches you catch him, something small, private; the moment feels delicate and safe. Your heart grows three times bigger than it is.

Ms. Maryam clears her throat quite loudly, and you break the eye contact to see her leaning her head towards the clock. You put your hand on Jade’s shoulder and laugh, hoping it’s even mildly appropriate to do so. “I think they’ve heard enough about me, love,” you say, and she looks up at you, nose scrunching up. You take the lull in her speech to press your hand to her back and push her along, back to her seat. Ms. Maryam stands again, already having pulled out the next name.

Dave high-fives Jade when she gets back to her seat, like taking the starring role of the presentation was an ultimate, combined goal. You wouldn’t be surprised with these two.

“Now that,” Dirk says, ducking his head into your space and speaking only for you to hear. “Was a presentation well done.”

You roll your eyes, hand coming up to rub at the back of your neck. “You should be telling Jade that,” you say. “She was the star of the show.”

Dirk shrugs and leans back in his chair. You do the same, bending a leg over your knee and bumping his with it.

Time passes a little quicker when you lean in to provide Dirk with commentary. He blooms a bit, elbowing you when you get a little loud; until Karkat’s father steps up to present, then all he can do is blink at you and make comments right back. That earns him a searing glare and a finger waggle from Karkat’s dad but, surprisingly, not Ms. Maryam, which makes you think she might be in the same boat as the two of you.

After presentations, Ms. Maryam offers coffee, which you politely decline but Dirk almost immediately stands to get. You sit next to Jade as Ms. Maryam passes out assignments for the day and help her get focused on them. She switches crayon colors every question, which is severely slowing her down, but makes her work look vibrant and playful. Dave writes in a constant red and doodles on the edges of his paper, tugging on your sleeve whenever he gets stuck.

You check the time and figure now is best to go to the store and avoid traffic of the human and automobile variety, so you kiss Jade’s head goodbye and give Dave a solid fist bump before heading out of the classroom. Outside, you spot Karkat’s father, Kankri, with a cup of coffee, pointing accusingly at Dirk and talking a mile a minute. Dirk’s arms are crossed, back ramrod straight, his fingers tapping impatiently on his sides as he gets lectured.

You casually walk up behind him, sliding your arm around Dirk’s shoulders and putting your hand up between him and Kankri. The latter splutters to a stop, eyebrows raised and jaw dropping in shock and most likely offense. Too bad. “I know you two were having a ripsnorting old time chatting,” you say, pulling Dirk against you. “But I’m afraid I have a query for my friend here, if you don’t mind.”

You pull Dirk away, despite Kankri’s protests of certainly minding, around the corner. He lets out a deep exhale and you rub his back sympathetically as he visibly loosens up. “Fuck,” Dirk mutters, stretching out his neck. “That was awful. Thanks for the save.”

“Didn’t quite save you,” you tease, bringing your hands in front of you to rub together. “I do actually have a question.”

“Shoot,” Dirk says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I’m making dinner tonight,” you explain with sweeping hand movements. “Day off and all that is giving me time to actually cook and have a little fun.” You pause, loosen your tie. “I was wondering if you’d like to come over.”

Dirk doesn’t react at first, just stands silently as he processes your words. A splash of pink blossoms over his cheeks and you are incredibly pleased, smiling wide. He nods, swiping at his mouth as he hides a smile. “Should I be bringing anything?” he asks.

“Just yourself,” you respond confidently. “And Dave, of course.”

He agrees, you promise to text him a time and address after you get home from shopping, then you’re off. Your excitement bubbles over as you make your way to the grocery store, get your things, and try not to speed on your way home. You’ve cooked plenty of times in your life, but now is when you really need to shine. Not impressing your ex-wife’s parents, no— but impressing the father of your child’s best friend.

You set all the ingredients out on the counter, group them by dish, and promptly waste ten minutes thinking about what order you should cook this all in. After you’re finished balking, you jump into action, grabbing a variety of mixing bowls and setting them out on the counter, preparing anything that needs to sit and get to cooking. It’s a long few hours, and you frequently take breaks to clean up different areas of the house before your guests arrive. You don’t even have time to roll the grape leaves before you have to pick Jade up, and you curse at your tardiness even in this. 

It’s a quick ride to the school and Dirk is nowhere in sight; even stranger is that Dave is. You’re normally a lot later when picking Jade up, you suppose. Your trip home is filled with anxious silence that Jade can absolutely see right through, because she’s a smart little devil. Once you pull into the garage, she patiently waits for you to unbuckle her and politely puts her stuff in her room before peeking her head around the entrance to the kitchen and spying on you.

“Baba?” she calls inquisitively. You turn your head to look at her, sleeves rolled up to your elbows as you decide what to do next. The bread has to go in the oven, the grape leaves have to be rolled and cooked on the stove, and the tzatziki needs to cool for a bit longer before you’re ready to go. “What are you doing?” she asks, turning the corner. “Can I help?”

Heaven bless her heart, you swoop in to kiss her cheek and swipe her right off her feet. Her yelp dissolves into laughter as you set her on the counter next to the drained grape leaves, and she gasps, eyes twinkling. “Are you making waraq einab?” she exclaims, clapping. You nod enthusiastically, bringing the filling over to set next to her.

“No, habibti,” you say, tapping her nose. “ _ We _ are going to make it, because I need your help!” You help her roll up her own sleeves and drape a hand towel over her skirt before realizing she’s never done this with you before. You’ve always cooked them for her, not with her. Her joy and excitement fills the whole house, and the warmth in your chest is enough to keep a country cozy for the winter.

It’s a patient process, showing her how to do it and correcting her small mishaps that could spell disaster in the pot. You lay the potatoes down on the bottom and let her pack and stack the rolled grape leaves tight on top, until all the leaves and most of the filling is gone. You promise to put it to use in some tabouleh later, to which she cheers and claps her rice-covered hands. You kiss her forehead, pour tomatoes and olive oil over the grape leaves, place a plate on top, and get them and the bread cooking while you wash up and help Jade with her homework.

You’re startled when there’s a knock on the door about an hour later, as if you could forget about your company. You ask Jade to make sure Halley is in his room as to not frighten the guests and make sure you look presentable before opening the door to one handsome looking man and his charming son. Dave waves at you before heading into your house like it’s his home, to which Dirk exasperatedly sighs and grabs Dave’s backpack to keep him from going any farther.

“Hello, Mr. English,” Dave say plainly, and you crouch down to give him a fist bump.

“You can call me Jake,” you say, smiling warmly at him. “Or Yaqoub— but I think Jake is easier, don’t you?”

Dave brightens up, apparently delighted by this permission and what he must be perceiving as the beginning of a beautiful friendship. “Hey, Jake,” he says a bit more confidently. You beam.

“Hey yourself, Dave,” you respond, and stand to ruffle his hair. He makes it about two feet before Jade sprints across the room, attempting to skid to a stop but succeeding only in knocking Dave over and tumbling down herself. You gasp, but before you can rush to help them up, Dirk stops you with a hand gripping your elbow. The kids are laughing, Dave playing dead with his shades askew and grin wide on his face; Jade snorting into his shoulder. You calm, and gesture for Dirk to come in.

He thanks you, looking around with wide, interested eyes at your rather beautiful abode, if you do say so yourself. His eyes fall on your fireplace and only then does he furrow his brow and look over at you.

What? Are the hookahs dirty? You dusted all three of them! You stuff your hands in your pockets to avoid wringing them together and keep the smile on your face as bright and wide as you can. The look on Dirk’s face passes. “You have a gorgeous home,” he says, and you breathe out a huge sigh of relief.

“Thank you!” you say, rocking up on your toes and back down. You leave him to explore while you check on the food, but he ends up following you anyway. He goes straight for your appliances, ghosting his hands over them and nodding while chewing on his lip. After a few minutes, he stands straight up and looks around the entire kitchen. 

“Where’s your coffee machine?” he asks, incredulous. You laugh, holding up your decanter. 

“Right here,” you grin, gesturing to your array of teas. “Without the coffee or the machine. Much cheaper and it always works!”

“How do you live?” Dirk asks, sounding as genuine as ever. You laugh as you open the oven, subsequently fogging up your glasses as you pull the zaatar bread out. Dirk pays rapt attention, speaking light afterthoughts. “I can’t get through a day of Dave without at least two cups of coffee.”

You take your glasses off completely and shrug, placing the baking tray on a cooling rack and slipping off your oven mitts. “It looks delicious,” Dirk says, crossing his arms and grabbing his elbows. He’s such a foodie, it must hurt not to touch and taste everything right away.

“I promise it is,” you say, using tongs to pry the plate off the grape leaves and squeeze some fresh lemon juice over it. Dirk raises his brows as he tries to peer into the pot, and you’re quick to let the plate drop as to not ruin the surprise. “Ah!” you tut, waving the tongs at him. “Don’t spoil it for yourself, only Jade and I are allowed to know what’s in this pot until it’s done!”

Dirk honest to heaven pouts and you almost melt, resolve cracking— but you stay strong! Dirk will love this dish, you know it, he just has to be patient. You make small talk as you prepare tea in a pot large enough to last you all of 10 minutes but will hopefully satisfy the four of you in the house if you can contain yourself. Dirk watches— as he tends to do in your kitchen— as you stir together loose tea, a variety of spices, and get out your jar of evaporated milk to add before letting it simmer for a bit. 

“Alright,” you say, puffing up with pride. You pry the plate up and peek in at the grape leaves. They look full and juicy, and you’re excited to let your guests get their hands on them! “Jadwah!” you call, getting your nice plates and glasses out of the cabinet and hoping to heaven they’re not dusty. “Get us ready to eat, will you?”

“Yes, Baba!” you hear promptly, directly prior to her heavy feet hitting the floor as she runs around to get things ready. You shoo Dirk away into the living room and wash your hands before fetching a large plate to put the grape leaves on, another for the bread, and a big bowl for the tzatziki. You set all the dishes and the decanter on a platter, throw on some napkins and utensils, and steel yourself for the big reveal.

You walk into the living room to find Jade rocking excitedly on crossed legs on the floor in front of some newspaper, Dave looking a bit confused next to her, and Dirk politely mirroring her, posture perfect and hands clasped in his lap. You set the platter in the center of the newspapers and sit down yourself, gesturing to the food. “Feel free to dig in, fork or no,” you tell your guests. You start by pouring everyone a glass of tea and placing them on the platter as Jade almost jumps to grab a fistful of grape leaves. She thankfully offers Dave one— you raised her right— along with a piece of zaatar bread. The poor kid looks overwhelmed.

Upon looking at Dirk, you see he is, too; just a bit. He takes a glass of tea and blows on it before taking a sip, his face lighting up as he goes for another. You smile proudly to yourself and take a slurp of your own glass before setting it down, pleased, and reaching for a rolled grape leaf. 

“What kind of tea is this?” Dirk asks, putting his half-full glass on the platter. 

“Adeni chai,” you respond, taking a bite of the roll in your hand. It’s juicy, the leaf bursting with flavor, the rice tender and perfect. Nadia would have loved it. You look over at Jade, her voluminous black hair and bright smile, smeared with tzatziki sauce. At least your lovely little lady is here to enjoy it. You snap your gaze back to Dirk and shrug. “It’s a Yemeni tea, but popular in a lot of Arab countries and cultures.”

Dirk hums, glancing around the room as he takes a bite of the grape leaf. Dave finally perks up, mimicking his dad and digging into his meal. They both seem shocked but satisfied, quickly finishing the roll and grabbing another. Dirk scoops some tzatziki sauce on his plate and grabs a piece of bread. You try not to pay too much attention to him as you eat your food. 

You fail, however, when Dirk pauses as he looks up at the various items on your fireplace. There are pictures, lots of them: Jade at her first Eid celebration, the two of you at a wedding in traditional garb, a nice, professional portrait during a business trip to Vegas, among others. Then there are your hookahs. One from Nadia’s family, one passed down in your own, and the one you actually use when friends come over. Wrapped around that one is a keffiyeh, complete with your country’s flag hanging loose at the end in colored thread. The treasured family heirloom that your gran gave you once she got sick, along with the wooden sculpture of Masjid Al Aqsa. 

“Palestine?” Dirk questions nervously, and you almost well right up with tears. You nod enthusiastically, putting the back of your hand on his knee.

“Kifl Hares, yes!” you exclaim, damn near wiggling in your seat. Dirk grins, relieved, and presses the back of his hand to yours. “Born and raised, and Jade— well, born. She’s been a few times since, but visits are far and few between.”

Dirk nods, gazing up around the room as he eats. You’re ever grateful for his understanding. You continue your meal with some small talk, until Jade looks about ready for a nap and Dirk asks you put some music on. You put on your favorite CD to save you from having to pull out the stereo and play a cassette and Jade perks up immediately. Drowsy as she is, she gets up and starts marching around the room, hands up in the air as she claps.

“So,” Dirk drawls, taking a sip of his tea. “This is the music you listen to.” You furrow your brow, confused, but nod. Dirk laughs over his cup. “Jade didn’t particularly enjoy my playlists. Said you listened to something different and that she danced with you.”

Instead of responding, you wipe your hands and mouth and get on your feet, holding your hand out for Jade’s. She excitedly takes it and you start walking her slowly around the newspapered floor and your guests, spinning her around and letting her go to make all sorts of hand movements— the only thing she learned from your dancing. Next to her, you close your eyes and let the music take you, shaking your shoulders and your hips and weaving your hands together fluidly. 

Jade cheers you on, and you open your eyes to find her wiggling beside you and Dirk staring up at you, glass pressed against his lips. Dave is preoccupied with chowing down on potatoes and bread, but his father only has eyes on you. You could blush, but your pride wins out against your flattered embarrassment. You haul Jade up into your arms and keep dancing, wiggling your hips and dipping her away from the food. She laughs, her glasses falling to the floor and with a death grip on the front of your shirt.

You grab her hand as you bring her back up, kissing the back of her knuckles and thanking her for the dance. She grabs your face in turn and lands a loud kiss on your cheek before hugging tightly around your neck. You rub her back then crouch down to let her get her feet back on solid ground and pick her glasses up. While you fix the collar of your shirt from where Jade bunched it up, you grin down at Dirk, who is still looking up at you with his glass pressed to his lips. He must be a little dazzled.

“We dance a little,” you shrug, and sit back down to drink the rest of your tea, stuffed full of good food and good feelings. Dirk finally takes a sip, almost mimicking you to work out of his trance. “Did you like the food?”

Dirk nods, opening his mouth to speak, when Dave burps. Loudly.

“ _ Dave, _ ” Dirk tuts, to which the young blond rubs his chest before laying his head on his father’s leg.

“I’ll take that as a compliment!” you say, pleased. As you stand to clean up, you decide to make the Striders a plate to take home. Upon telling Dirk this, he makes to say something; but you raise a brow as you look at him. “I won’t hear anything about it, Dirk.”

He shuts his mouth and sighs, petting Dave’s hair back absentmindedly and curling his other hand into a fist. Ha.

Jade sleepily helps you gather all the dishes back onto the platter and starts rolling up the newspaper to dispose of properly. You mosey on into the kitchen, arranging the vegetables and grape leaves all fancy on the plate and wrapping it, then getting a plastic container for the tzatziki sauce and a bag for the bread. You put it all in the fabric bag Dirk gave you, along with his own containers. You catch him guiding a groggy Dave to the door and hand him the bag, telling him all the different ways to eat the food you’ve prepared for him.

“A splash of olive oil will make it a right treat in the middle of the night, I can tell you that much,” you say, standing next to the door as your guests prepare to leave. Dave is a trooper, putting on one shoe while Dirk puts on the other and adamant about his ability to walk to the car rather than be carried. Jade would never.

“Thank you for having us,” Dirk says, touching your arm. You give him a warning smile before going in for a hug that he stumbles the rest of the way into. You let him go after just a moment and squat to give Dave equal treatment, though he is more than happy to reciprocate off the bat. 

“Thank you for coming,” you respond, opening the door. “I do wish you come back soon for some more fun!”

“We’ll be back,” Dave not just says, but declares. Dirk gawks at his son. “Jade says you make good chicken.”

“I guess that decides it,” Dirk sighs, but he’s smiling. “We’ll see you soon. Good night, Jake.”

“Yes indeedy, Dirk. Good night to you as well,” you say, and watch him leave to make sure he gets to his car safely, all the way in the driveway.

Jade is waiting for you on the stairs when you turn around. That is to say, she’s fast asleep, strewn across the steps at the base of the staircase. You pick her up carefully, bringing her up to her bedroom and tucking her in. She rarely stays up long enough to change into pyjamas, and tonight is no different. Oh well! At least you know she’s comfortable.

You go back downstairs to let Halley out of his room and give him his dinner— “A bit late. Sorry, buddy.” He pushes his head into your hand and takes scratches behind his ear as an apology.

You figure you can make time to do dishes another night, because you’re exhausted. Back upstairs, you change into your sleep shirt and boxers and fall into your bed, hugging a pillow close to your chest when you get a text. 

_ Home safe. Food’s in the fridge. Thank you again. _

You send a quick message back with a handful of emojis to get your point across and set your phone to the side, rolling onto your back.

Dirk Strider. What an interesting fellow.

With that blond hair and those amber eyes in mind, you are lulled to a long night of peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is very appreciated, as this is just something I'm pumping out and will come back to clean up later when I have the inspiration.  
> Chapter Count: 5773  
> Fic Count: 11764  
> Catch me on Twitter @asmrst!


	4. dirty laundry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only other material written for the double single dads au, as a parting gift. Cute (almost-)smut to smother the mood of the last thing I posted, lmao.
> 
> Contains adult material (Dirk gets naked, unfortunately I didn't write the actual smut but you know).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a pleasure writing this fic and Starboy AU (and palace, god, that's my guilty pleasure) and all of my other fics. They hold such special places in my heart. Unfortunately recent events have made it impossible for me to write, among other things. I'm sorry to leave you all with loose threads. I didn't have a choice in these series of events. I wish I could continue. I really, really do.
> 
> I've seen your comments. I've read each and every one over and over again. I haven't had the energy or words to respond but know that I appreciate you all immensely. I wish I could do more for all of you. Thank you so much for supporting me. I'm sorry to disappoint.

The summer sun floods in through the window and onto you two on the couch. It’s nice, quiet, aside from Jake slurping at his tea. He seems to be enjoying the peace and the screensaver on your TV. You hold your cup between your hands and try not to stare. You fail miserably.

“Hey,” you whisper, pulling your legs up and under you on the couch. “Do you..,” you start, then pause to think. How exactly do you go about asking this politely and in an adult manner? You’ve never been in this situation, let alone done this in years.

He turns to you and raises a brow over the lip of his mug. His lips are a pretty red, probably warm from the tea; soft, kissable. You lean your arm on the back of the couch and rest your head on your shoulder.

“Do you want to have sex?” you ask, then take a sip of your tea. Jake, on the other hand, chokes, almost spilling the rest of what’s in his cup, and promptly spits out what was in his mouth. Thankfully, it lands on you rather than the floor or the couch, and you continue sipping on your tea as he coughs. You’ve had your fair share of liquids on your shirts. It’ll come out in the wash.

He sets his tea down on the table beside him and presses a hand to his chest, hacking through a breath. You reach over to put your cup next to his, then squeeze his upper arm. “No pressure if you don’t,” you say. He looks directly at you again, bright red with his hand over his mouth. “Just putting the proposition out there.”

He slaps a hand down on your knee and smiles, big and bright from behind his hand. Now you really want to kiss him. “That,” Jake starts, clearing his throat when his voice breaks. “That would be wonderful, actually.” He lowers his hand and bows his head a bit, grinning shyly up at you. “You’re very handsome; makes a fella a little flustered.”

“I could tell,” you tease, laying your hand over his on your knee. “You know, with the tea coming out of your nose and all.” He ducks his head, turning into his shoulder, and you walk your free hand up his arm. “You’re a real charmer.”

He digs a finger into your knee, knowing fully well he can’t pinch you through your jeans, and you smile. You look over at your tea, then back at Jake, down to his hand. You don’t really get to think about your plan before you’re doing it; carefully maneuvering your leg to fit over his lap and running a hand from his shoulder down before picking up your tea and taking a sip. Jake straightens up, blinking rapidly and tightening his grip on your knee. You pet the back of his hand, slurping until you’ve downed the rest of the tea, and set your cup down.

“Can’t let it go to waste,” you say, shrugging. You fidget nervously with his shirt, settling down on his lap so you can properly look him in the eyes. He swallows; you hear his foot tapping on the carpet anxiously. “Is this okay?” you ask him. He nods quickly, taking his hand off your knee. It’s not utterly convincing.

You make a move to climb off, ready to call off your intentions entirely to avoid making him uncomfortable, and he grabs you by the waist, pulling you in and down. You grab his shoulders for balance and he sways into you. He looks awed; curious and frightened in one green-eyed bundle. Your heart beats too big and too fast in your chest as you lean into him, searching for a sign, for something from him, though you don’t know what it is.

He gives it to you. As always, he knows you better than you know yourself. He angles his face just right to where he can brush his lips against yours, chaste. You sigh and rub your hand over and back to the nape of his neck, brushing through the hair there. It’s soft, loose; nothing like the aching man underneath you. You push your hand into his hair and close your eyes, searching for his mouth with your lips and humming when you find it. He shudders so minutely you almost miss it and you smile, kissing him gently, like a lover you’ve known all your life but only found at the moment you needed him most.

He rubs restlessly at your sides, wrapping his arms tighter around you and pulling you closer to his chest. You lick across his lips and he pulls away, blinking blearily up at you. You’re about to ask if it’s too much again, if you pushed too far— then he reaches up to take off his glasses, setting them down on the table, before winding an arm around your back again and stuffing the other into your hair to pull you down into another breathtaking kiss. He licks into your mouth, more confidently as you open up for him and start making noises in the back of your throat; small whines as he hikes your shirt up just to grab you and pull you closer, his hand wrenching at your hair and pulling a groan out with it. 

You roll your hips down and he gasps, quick and sharp. “Sorry,” you say instinctively, pulling away to gauge the emotions in his expression. What you see is pure, uninhibited awe; a want translating into a need for your touch. Your own cheeks darken at the sheer intensity of his gaze. You cup his jaw, stroking his cheek with your thumb, and lean in to kiss his cupid’s bow. He grunts, soft and quiet, an acknowledgment of your presence so close to him. 

“It’s fine,” he whispers, stroking your hair. “In fact,” he says, tightening his arm around your back. He easily maneuvers you to the side and you fall on the couch only for him to crawl over you, one leg finding leverage on the floor and other crammed between your legs. “It’s more than fine,” he continues, nuzzling your neck. You arch your back and suck in a breath as he presses light kisses there, curious. “It’s divine.” 

You shiver, wrapping your legs around his thigh and pulling him up to lock your lips together again. He’s messy and uncoordinated, teeth clinking together as he enthusiastically shoves his tongue in your mouth. You appreciate it, even if it throws you off a bit, and guide his head to where you won’t be pressing your noses together and therefore not have to part so often to take a breath. You get a good suck of his lip in while he pants into your mouth and his hips buck, effectively grinding down on your leg. You puff out a laugh, leaning your head back and swiveling your hips to get more friction. He does the same, dropping his head down to rest on your chest and look down at the way your bodies connect, helplessly rutting against your leg.

“Dirk,” he moans, clawing at your jeans. “Oh, _Dirk._ ”

God, you could come instantly, the way Jake sounds. He slides his hands up to palm at your shirt and rubs over the wet spot from his little tea incident that has grown cold. The temperature shocks you, makes you shudder, and he pulls away.

“I got your shirt dirty,” he says, breathing heavy.

“Maybe,” you murmur, pulling at the hem of his shirt. “You should take it off me, then.”

Jake gulps. His hands find their way beneath your shirt and smooth over the planes of your abdomen. You hum and arch up into his touch, closing your eyes. He’s so warm and gentle and it’s _heavenly._  You’ve never felt so cared for in your life. If you think about it too much, you’ll get emotional, so you don’t. You focus on the hard, growing line of Jake’s dick pressing against your thigh instead.

His hands roam your torso in big, circular sweeps until he bumps into your nipple and fiddles with the bar there, making you gasp and jerk. He blinks rapidly, pressing down into the bar enough to make you squirm, flushing at the effect of his curiosity. He nudges your shirt up, then more when you encourage him, and feasts his eyes on your slowly exposed torso. You lift your arms so he can push the shirt up and off you and tuck it neatly behind your head. You lick your lips, trying hard not to cover yourself up as he stares, running his hands politely down your sides.

“You can touch me,” you say quietly, stretching your arms. He looks up at you funny, an _I’m already touching you_ surely on his tongue. “Like, really touch me. You don’t have to be careful about it, either.”

Jake sighs, running his fingers along your collarbones, down the middle of your chest, and down further to fiddle with your navel piercing. You close your eyes and let him take this at his own pace, even as impatient as you are. It’s quiet and peaceful, his warm hands almost cool on your burning skin, until you feel the press of his lips on your pec. You let out a groan, shocked and small, and look down to find him grinning at you. He maintains the eye contact as he kisses his day down to your nipple, then stops. He glances down at it almost nervously. You pick your hands up to settle in his hair.

He takes your patient encouragement and licks your nipple, dragging his tongue up it. You hum, tangle your fingers in his hair, and arch your chest up when he leans down to kiss it. He moves over to the other nipple, gives it the same treatment, then nudges the bar with his tongue. You moan for him, bite your lip and squirm and pull at his hair until he gets the idea that he’s doing fucking wonderfully and gets more enthusiastic. 

“Jake,” you sigh, and he pops his head up to look at you, lips red and glistening from sucking at your chest. You lick your lips, trying to compose yourself; Jake takes this as an open invitation to dive in and kiss you and you can’t do anything more than wrap your arms around his neck and indulge him. He parts to nudge his nose against yours, eyes shining. “Bedroom,” you say, tightening your hand on his shirt.

He sits up, pulling you up with him before grabbing your shirt and hopping to stand. You make your way up onto slightly shaking legs and grab his hand, leading him just a smidge too quickly and giddily to your room down the hall. He follows, squeezing your hand as you pass through the door and shut it behind you. With your back to him, you start working on your jeans, unbuttoning them at lightning speed and pushing them down to your ankles for you to kick off.

When you turn around, you find Jake staring at you and biting his lip, worrying the fabric of your shirt between his fingers. He looks not only cautious but scared, like he’ll burn if he touches you, or that the sight of you undressing itself is enough to hurt. You ache to touch him.

“You alright?” you ask instead, reaching up to rub at your elbow awkwardly. He shifts on his feet, tapping his socked toes anxiously on the floor again. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“No!” he bursts out, nearly dropping your shirt. “I very much would like to, ehm,” he says, averting his gaze. “Partake in these activities with you, it's just… very real all of a sudden.”

You reach up to stroke down his arm, careful. “Hey,” you say, low and sweet. “We can take this at whatever pace you need, okay? We’ve got all the time in the world.”

He smiles to himself, then down at his hands, where he’s still holding your shirt. Nodding, he looks up just to kiss you, chaste, then plop down on your bed. The trust he exudes for you drives into your skin, an endorphin that blows up somewhere near your heart and brings warmth to your chest and, lest you forget, to your boxers. You sit down beside him and kiss his shoulder before scooting back to sit against the headboard and patting the space next to you. He obediently readjusts to sit beside you more comfortably, your shirt between the two of you, and his eager but nervous hands balled into fists on his lap. 

You really don’t know how this fucking works. What’s adult sex etiquette? When you were a stupid, horny teen, you just rubbed one off on whoever would lend a hand. How do you go about having sex with someone you _care_  about? First things first, you suppose: you take off your boxers. It’s awkward, given Jake is still fully clothed, socks and all; but it’s worth it for the hitch in his breath and the reach with his hands for your thigh. 

“You, uh,” he stutters breathlessly. “You’re, um— wow.”

“What?” you ask, refusing to get self-conscious. You worked hard for this dick. You’re proud of it. There’s nothing for you to be ashamed of.

“You’re gorgeous, Dirk,” he says, snapping his head up to look at you. “You’re— bigger than I thought.”

Oh. The warmth returns, this time cycling through your face as well. And the fact that he’s _thought_  about it. Thought about you. Like this. About your dick.

“Shit, Jake,” you breathe, and lean up to kiss him again. He wraps a hand around your waist and moans into your mouth, a beautiful sound, as he hungrily pulls you closer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some explanations, since this snippet takes place WAY after the previous chapter:
> 
> \- Jake is a sexual assault survivor, and has never been the type of person to have sex for pleasure due to the culture he grew up in. Hopefully this can clear up any confusion on his and Dirk's hesitance (Dirk is aware of him being a survivor and so is trying to be cautious. He's probably overdoing it).
> 
> \- Dirk is a trans man who has been on testosterone for many years and practices pumping. This practice can result in an impressive few inches of length and some thickness for tdicks! Jake was supposed to find out that Dirk was trans between the previous chapter and this snippet when going swimming, as Dirk's top surgery scars would be visible when shirtless, and Jake is a curious man.
> 
> Extra Content:
> 
> \- Jake's ex-wife, Nadia, is a wonderful woman. They are still in contact and she was supposed to be featured in the coda.
> 
> \- Jake and Dirk kiss (gasp!) and everyone is happy, GOD I wish I could write it.
> 
> \- This story was ultimately about loss and recovery/surviving after trauma. There's your thematic description.
> 
> Again-- thank you all for your interest and support. Thank you for your comments, your kudos, even clicking on the link, even if you didn't finish it (how are you reading this? Checkmate). I'm so sorry to have to stop. Maybe one day you'll get your answers about some of the cliffhangers throughout my copious amounts of work. (You definitely will if I get all my ducks in a row.)
> 
> Much love to all of you. I'd leave contact information but I don't have any anymore! Whoops.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is very appreciated, as this is just something I'm pumping out and might come back to clean up later when I have the inspiration?
> 
> Chapter Count: 1581  
> Fic Count: 1581
> 
> Catch me on Twitter @asmrst!


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